


2nd of November

by JediDiplomat



Category: NCIS, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-03
Updated: 2011-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-22 12:47:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JediDiplomat/pseuds/JediDiplomat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's November and the team is investigating a fire in a nursery.  It's just arson, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place about 2 years after a right turn at the SPN season 1 hiatus.

Dean sipped his coffee and forced his leg to be still. It was quiet, the calm before the storm. He hated this time of the year. He'd always tried to be south, somewhere warm and changeless. Someplace where the scent of burnt debris didn't linger in the air. Sammy was with Dad and that was good. None of them should be alone right now, but well, he had the least to lose.

Grunting, he got up and started rummaging through Tim's desk. Grabbing the service pistol, he moved to Tony's desk doing the same thing. Dean paused a moment before bypassing Gibbs' desk and going back to his own. He cleaned off the desk and placed the three pistols, plus his own before him. Next came the cleaner. Dean took a deep breath and got to work.

* * *

Gibbs came around the corner of Ziva's desk and frowned. DiNozzo and McGee were discussing weekend plans, Ziva wasn't at her desk and Winchester—he seemed to be cleaning everyone's weapon.

“Lose a bet, Winchester?” He asked, sitting down and checking his own weapon. Still in the drawer, where it belonged.

“No, sir,” Winchester replied not looking up from the barrel he was cleaning.

“Then why are you cleaning your teammates weapons?” Gibbs shot back. He noticed the matching frowns on McGee's and DiNozzo's face. Tony reached over to check his weapon. Gibbs shook his head.

“Mine are at home.”

Mine plural. Gibbs wondered how the youngest member of his team was doing with permits.

“You know, I have a certain way I like mine--” Tony started.

Winchester placed a gun at the edge of his desk. “Done,” he said, not looking up.

“How many are left?” Gibbs asked.

“Finishing mine now,” Winchester replied.

Gibbs nodded. The boy was still a mystery after five months on the job. He was still working on the 'sir.' There was something significant about the cleaning, he could sense it. “Grab your gear,” he said as Ziva walked back to her desk. She passed Winchester's desk and grabbed her gun from the desk.

“Thank you.”

Winchester looked up at her. “You're welcome.” He put his own gun in the holster at his waist and grabbed his gear.

“Where to, boss?” DiNozzo asked.

“There was a fire at a Marine major's house. The major swears he saw someone in the house just before the fire broke out.”

“Arson?” McGee asked.

“Maybe. Winchester! Coming?” Gibbs yelled, seeing the younger man falter. He looked pale and Gibbs wondered if he'd been hunting on his days off again.

“Yeah, sure,” Winchester said faintly, catching up.

* * *

“DiNozzo, Ziva talk to the fire chief. McGee, pictures. Winchester, you're with me.” The group scattered off to their respective jobs. Gibbs turned and saw Dean staring at the house, the black streaks coming from the windows, the waterlogged ground.

“You all right?” Gibbs asked softly. Dean had been silent the entire ride over, not even flinching at Ziva's driving.

Dean nodded, turning away from the building and giving Gibbs a tight smile. “Yessir. What do you need me to do?”

Gibbs slapped Dean upside the head. “Don't sir, me.”

Dean smirked, a small one and nodded.

“I want you to talk to the family. Find out what happened, see if you can get a description of our suspect.”

Dean nodded and moved toward the family. Gibbs watched as Dean talked to them. He had to admit Dean was excellent in this regard. He knew, almost instinctively, the right tone to take with the victims.

“Just one last question, how old is your daughter?” Dean asked. Both Gibbs and the major frowned.

“I don't see--”

“She'll be six months on Thursday,” the major's wife answered.

Gibbs saw a tight smile come over Winchester's face and he wondered about it. For just a second the boy looked sick to his stomach before the mask settled again on his face.

“Thank you for your time,” Dean said, before giving Gibbs a look. They turned back toward the others.

“What was that about?” Gibbs asked quietly.

Dean shrugged. “Just getting all the information.”

“You needed the age of the baby?” Gibbs asked.

“The intruder was in the nursery, it seems, at the moment, to be two separate events. Knowing how old the baby was might help us narrow down our lists of suspects.”

Gibbs nodded. He didn't buy it, Dean had been too intent on the answer for it to be a hunch. He knew, or suspected something, the only question was what.

* * *

“You notice anything strange about the new guy?” DiNozzo asked as they made their way through the house.

“You mean how he cleaned everyone's gun this morning?”

“I meant more about the lack of complaining about your driving and how Gibbs had him do the interviews but yeah, the gun cleaning thing was weird too,” DiNozzo answered.

“There is nothing wrong with my driving, Tony,” Ziva snapped, looking through the wreckage.

“Sure if you were a formula one driver,” Tony replied with a smirk. It was an old joke between them, more something to pass the time than serious ribbing. There was silence for a few minutes before Tony mused, “I wonder if McGee knows.”

Ziva shook her head. “I would put money on Abby knowing. They're good friends. I've seen them around town on the weekends.”

“Really? Wow, I didn't really see Dean as Abby's type, but she did date McGee.” Tony said.

“Why must it always be about sex with you?” Ziva asked.

“What else is there?” Tony retorted.

Ziva shook her head.

* * *

“What did you find out?” Gibbs asked.

“The fire started in the nursery, preliminary reports point to the crib. Think someone was trying to kill the baby and make it look accidental?” McGee asked.

“Do we know what started it?” Gibbs asked.

“Not yet. We took the samples down to Abby to analyze. The crib is nothing but ash,” McGee replied.

“How did the fire move?” Dean asked, clearing his throat first. Gibbs turned and wondered again if Winchester was hunting on his days off.

“Move?” Ziva asked.

Dean nodded. “How did it move? From the crib to where? Did it go across the floor, indicating an accelerant was used? It did go straight up the walls toward the ceiling? How did it move?”

Tony blinked and looked at Gibbs before answering. “I, uh, don't know. What's the deal?”

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. Just hoping it would be easy. If the fire followed the fuel it would help determine if someone was really in the house.”

“Never take the easy way,” Gibbs replied. “Always go where the evidence takes you. You believe there was someone in the house?”

Dean shrugged. “At this point, I don't see why a Marine major would lie. If he was trying to kill the daughter, why would he save her? If the room is as destroyed as Tim's pictures suggest, we'd never know if he went in or not. He could say someone was in his house and lit the fire.”

“It would look suspicious if he didn't try to save her,” Ziva suggested.

“Maybe he did. You said yourself, the fire started at the crib. Wouldn't take long to kill the baby. He had to save the rest of the family. Good of the many and all that.”

“You have thought way too much about this,” Tony said, a sharp look crossing his face.

“Saw a lot of shit working with my dad,” Dean retorted. “Trained to think of those things.”

“You're making sense,” Gibbs replied. “Winchester, go help Abby with the fire forensics. I want to know exactly how that fire started. Baby cribs don't spontaneously combust.”

“Yessir,” Dean said softly.

“Stop sirring me. We're not in the military, Winchester.”

“Yessir,” Dean answered, a hint of his usual smirk on his lips.

Gibbs sighed. “I want some kind of proof there was someone in that house. Find out why someone would want a six month old dead.”

* * *

“Hey Dean. Come to make sure no more ghosts move in?” Abby asked.

“Something like that. Gibbs sent me down to help out.”

Abby gave him a smile. “Are you calling him sir again?”

Dean grinned. “Can't help it. It's a respect thing. Dad drilled it into my head even before the career change.”

Abby laughed. “That's so sweet. You should definitely tell Gibbs that.”

Dean shook his head. “Or not. What do you need from me?”

They worked in relative silence, the music, while not the metal he preferred, was something Dean could live with. He was the only person that got away with insulting Abby's music. Abby showed Dean how to work through the evidence, process it through various machines. Dean soaked it up, carefully documenting everything both for the case and for his own investigation.

Two hours later and Abby was on her second CAF-POW and getting frustrated.

“Abbs, what do you have for me?”

“Nothing, Gibbs. That's the problem,” Abby replied glaring at the screen in front of her. “There's absolutely no reason for the crib to catch on fire.”

“All of your tests?” Gibbs asked.

“All negative. If there was something used it burned hot and quick and there's nothing left. Also I tried to find the flash point, where the fire started, it was the entire crib. All at the same time. The weirdest thing, Gibbs? The floor was burned after the crib.”

“The entire crib went up before the floor?” Gibbs asked.

“Looks like,” Abby said taking a sip of her drink.

“Where's Winchester?”

Abby winced. Gibbs didn't sound happy, which rarely boded well for anyone. “In the bathroom. He said he wasn't feeling well. I think he's been trying to cook again and it backfired.”

Gibbs nodded and Abby wondered how many problems she just created for Dean. Before Abby could rectify the situation, Dean came back into the lab wiping his mouth and still looking decidedly pale.

“Sorry about that, Abby. I guess I'm not as good of a cook as I thought.” He trailed off noticing Gibbs in the lab.

“You sick, Winchester?” Gibbs demanded.

“No, sir,” Dean answered, straightening.

“If you're sick, go home. You're no good to me sick.” Gibbs told him. If anything Dean snapped even more to attention. Gibbs thought he even heard Winchester's spine snap to precision.

“I'm fine.”

Gibbs nodded. He stepped up to Dean and smacked him upside the head. “Don't lie to me. Go home. Get some rest.”

Dean sighed. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

Dean heard the knock at the door and frowned. He wasn't expecting anyone. Dean looked back up at the ceiling, the protective circle half finished. It was the best place to put it, it was where Bobby had put it. Demons tended not to notice it until it was too late, which is exactly what you wanted to happen when you were dealing with demons. They were much easier to exorcise if they weren't trying to rip your heart out while you were doing it. He thought about ignoring the knock, and thought better of it. If it was Abby, Tim or, Christ, Gibbs, ignoring it would only get him a broken lock and a hefty explanation to the landlord. Besides, he told himself, demons don't knock.

Dean dropped off the ladder and wiped his hands. The greasy substance left smears across his jeans. He stuck his service pistol in the back of his jeans and unlocked the door. He didn't bother with the chain, in his vast experience it never seemed to hold anyone out that was determined to get in.

“Hi. How're you feeling?” Abby asked.

Dean stared at her for a minute before quietly saying “Christo.”

Abby frowned at him. “I brought dinner.”

Dean stepped aside and let Abby into the apartment. “Watch the salt,” he mumbled.

Abby didn't say a word but made sure not to disturb the salt line. Out of all of them, she was the most comfortable with his strange quirks and habits. She handed him the Chinese take out and Dean grinned. It was stupid, silly really, but it touched him that she remembered. One of the first late nights they'd had, Tim had ordered Chinese and Dean had let it slip that Dad has always gotten them subgum chicken when they were sick. It was something just about every town had and it was plain enough that it usually stayed down. Tim had been horrified by the notion but then Tim had been raised by two parents that didn't hunt down the things that went bump in the night.

“Thanks, Abby,” Dean said as he made his way into the small kitchen to grab plates. When he came out, plates, silverware and two beers in hand, he found Abby staring at the half finished protective circle.

Abby looked over at him, a worried frown on her face. “Are you expecting company?”

Dean swore. This case was driving him crazy and, of course, Abby wouldn't miss the name of God thrown at her. She might not know a protective circle, and he didn't put it past her to have read the Key of Solomon, but she knew that it wasn't something he usually had on his ceiling. The salt lines usually weren't that thick. He never should have let Abby in, not because she was a threat, but because she was too friggin' smart and she was going to figure all of this out and she had Sam's freakin' number. She denied it, but he knew. His psychic, geek brother was good, but not that good. Not good enough to just take care of shit that Dean had no idea he even needed to take care of. Not all the way from California. Not without a spy, and Abby had to be it.

“Can't be too cautious,” he replied and winced internally. That was lame even to him.

“You really don't have food poisoning, do you?” Abby asked,

Dean was going to have to tell her something and fast. Not the truth, but something close to it. Something that could be passed off as the truth. “It's the case,” he said quietly. “The crib today.” He sat down on the couch and scrubbed his face. “Sam's crib went up in flames. Dad almost didn't get to him in time.”

Abby sat down next to him. “I'm sorry. Gibbs would let you work a different case if--”

“Nah, I'm fine, Abby. Really. It was just, dude, I wasn't expecting everything to come back.” Dean said, and it wasn't a lie. Not exactly, just a stretching of the truth. He hoped it was enough to keep them away. No one could know what was really going on. No one.

* * *

Dean rubbed his eyes. He'd been at it since Abby had left. Weather reports had all come up normal and there were no odd cattle mutilations. No mutilations at all. Dean had printed out everything he could find, everything he could remember about the Demon. He didn't, couldn't believe it was back, but everything was adding up wrong. The date, the crib, the baby. It was all pointing to the Demon. Dean had briefly considered calling his dad and asking about the colt. He knew he wouldn't get away with not telling the eldest Winchester what was going on. It wasn't as if he could call Sam and ask about visions. It would be a dead giveaway and he'd end up with both of them on his doorstep. No, he couldn't do that to them, not when life was getting back to normal. Dean had to do this on his own.

Which meant research. He was getting better at it, learning what to search for and where to find it. He'd looked at everything again, the evidence, the weather patterns, odd murders, he'd even called the local priest and asked if there'd been an increase in possessions. Granted he hadn't used his real name, he couldn't let this get back to Gibbs, and the priest had been more disturbed than helpful. Dean considered calling Bobby, but calling Bobby meant explaining things, things that would eventually get back to Sam and Dad.

No, he was on his own this time out. He could do this. He'd been raised for it and it wasn't like he'd been slacking with this new life. In fact, NCIS was probably the closest thing to the family business. He could do this, he just needed to focus. He had to save this family from the same fate. No one else was dying from this sonuvabitch. No one.

Dean glanced at the clock, surprised to find it was almost seven in the morning. He grunted and started cleaning up the files he'd printed out. No use letting everyone see what a crackpot he was. Sighing, he scrubbed a hand over his face and closed all the files on his computer.

“Looking at porn again, probbie?” DiNozzo asked coming around the corner and sitting at his desk.

Dean was about to answer when his cell rang. “Winchester,” he said while flipping off DiNozzo.

“You answer the phone with Winchester? Man what have they done to you?”

Dean clenched his teeth. The one person he'd rather not talk to at the moment. “You called my cell, dude. The one I got from work?” There was a pause.

“Everything all right, Dean?”

Dean sighed. Stupid, psychic, pushy younger brother. “Everything's fine, Sam.”

* * *

DiNozzo told himself it wasn't really eavesdropping. He was gathering intel on the new guy. He would need all the intel he could get. He could only hear half of the conversation and Winchester seemed determined to keep Tony out of it.

“I can't go. I'm in the middle of a case.” There was a pause, then, “yeah, I know, Sam. I get what you're doing, I do.” Another pause, probably Sam responding.

Something was going on, something Dean obviously didn't want to do. DiNozzo wondered what it was. A wedding? Maybe Daddy was getting remarried to some tramp and Winchester wasn't happy. That made sense. Or maybe it was the brother. Could be doing something Dean didn't like. Maybe it was some kind of reunion. With wacky relatives. Maybe Dean was the wacky relative and no one wanted him there. That, that was probably it. At least that's what he'd ask about. He almost missed Dean's reply.

“Dude! This has nothing to do with Lawrence. I'm on a case and can't go!”

DiNozzo hadn't thought Winchester was gay, but he sure sounded like it. Maybe the brother was and Winchester was against it. Old flame maybe. He'd have to ask about that too. He waited until Dean snapped the phone shut. Dean glared at Tony, almost daring him to say something, which of course made Tony want to say something, he just wasn't sure what.

“Problems?” He finally asked, deciding to be subtle.

“No,” Winchester snapped.

“You sure? Because it certainly sounded like domestic dispute to me. You and Lawrence have a falling out? Maybe over some wedding you were supposed to go to?”

Winchester was staring at him like he'd grown another head. That wasn't the response he'd been hoping for.

“Not that there's anything wrong with that, but really you should take into consideration how Lawrence feels about this.”

“DiNozzo, shut up,” Gibbs said, coming into the office.

“Yes, boss,” DiNozzo replied, immediately sitting back down.

“Thought I told you to go home, Winchester?” Gibbs said.

“I'm fine,” Dean answered.

DiNozzo and Gibbs both stopped in surprise. DiNozzo had never seen anyone, except the director, back talk Gibbs. It just wasn't done.

“Did you even go home last night?” Gibbs asked.

“Went four days without sleep in Tulsa once.”

DiNozzo waited for the explosion that was sure to come. Winchester had back talked twice now. Was he looking to be fired?

“Look at me when I'm talking to you,” Gibbs snapped. He paused and DiNozzo couldn't help but watch. It was like watching a train wreck.

“We got a problem here, Winchester?” Gibbs asked, leaning into Dean's personal space once Dean finally raised his head.

“No, sir,” Winchester replied. DiNozzo had to give him credit. He didn't flinch under Gibbs' pressure.

Gibbs nodded. “You got a problem you come to me, got it?”

Dean nodded slowly. “Yessir,”

DiNozzo had to wonder exactly how Winchester got away with sir.

* * *

“What've we got?” Gibbs demanded.

“Looked into the family. Neither have any history of mental illness, no problems financially, well other than he's a Marine--” DiNozzo shrugged.

“What else?”

“The major couldn't give us a good description of the intruder,” Ziva reported. “I don't know, I think he's making it up.”

“Why?” Gibbs asked. There was no heat in the question, he wanted to know Ziva's reasons behind it.

“Maybe he doesn't want another child. Maybe it's not his and he's making up an intruder because he was caught.”

“There's nothing to indicate it's not their child,” DiNozzo retorted.

“I believe him,” Winchester said quietly.

Everyone turned to him. He shrugged and took the remote from Ziva. “I looked into cases similar to these and found cases going back thirty odd years. Fire starts in the nursery. Surviving parent, usually the father, always sees someone, same vague description. Couldn't get a good look at it, long coat, short hair, couldn't tell you if it was male of female.” He flashed the files on the screen.

Gibbs nodded. “What's the connection between the victims?” There was a brief hesitation before and Gibbs knew Winchester was holding something back. There was a niggling at the back of his head, telling him that he should know this.

Dean swallowed. “I'm not sure. Different ages, different backgrounds, different states.”

Gibbs frowned. “DiNozzo work with Winchester, see if you can't find a pattern in these cases. Ziva, I want to know everything there is to know about this family. McGee work with Abby, I want to know exactly what started that fire.”

There was a bustle of movement as everyone wandered off to their assignments. Gibbs looked over their work. The evidence was slim. Cribs didn't spontaneously combust and it wasn't as if a six month old had enemies, similar cases or not. He had Ziva running the family. Gibbs looked over to Winchester, the boy was locked up tighter than Fort Knox. He knew something about this case, something he wasn't sharing. The question was what. Gibbs didn't like prying. He'd rather his team come to him and trust him with their problems but this time he'd have to dig. He needed one hundred percent from his agents. Personal problems had to be dealt with or put on hold during the case.

Frowning, Gibbs started searching Winchester's background. While some of it was pure bullshit at least half of his background had to be true to get past the bullshit detectors and obtain his clearance. Gibbs would start there. A tickle of memory bothered him. He should know why this was spooking Winchester, but he couldn't place it. He'd find it, he would.

* * *

“You really think there's some kind of connection between these cases?” DiNozzo asked, pulling another case from the pile. Winchester just grunted.

DiNozzo raised an eyebrow. “You could at least answer me.” he snapped, trying to sound harsh. The problem with Winchester, as Tony saw it, was lack of respect. McGee feared him, Ziva respected his experience, Winchester? Neither and it left DiNozzo floundering. Not that he'd ever admit it. He was senior field agent, after Gibbs. He had a reputation to up hold. A reputation that included hazing the new probbie.

Winchester looked up at DiNozzo and said, “Yes, I think there's a connection.”

“Why?” DiNozzo asked pulling a random file out of the stack. “How does a mechanic in Kansas have anything in common with a Marine major?”

“Besides seeing the same shadowy figure, the fire starting in the baby's room and the infant being six months old? What else do you want?” Winchester replied.

“It's a start, but not enough. Why them? Besides the crime itself, what links them?” DiNozzo replied. He would admit, only under torture, that the kid had good instincts. But instincts only got you so far. Then you had to back it up with facts.

Winchester frowned and pulled another file. Searching for what he didn't know.

"Take the mechanic. What does he have in common with the major?" DiNozzo said, grabbing the file he had started with.

Winchester looked at the file in his hand and his jaw tightened a bit. "Father was a marine in Vietnam, married his high school sweetheart."

"Ok, so they were both Marines. How does that figure into him killing his wife?" DiNozzo asked.

"He didn't kill his wife," Winchester snapped, a little too heatedly.

"Oh come on! He's a mechanic, he's not making that much money and hell he's living in Kansas. Wife was probably doing the mailman, as suburban housewives do, and maybe he came home early, found her in bed with another man. Could tip him over the scales," DiNozzo said, slapping the file down.

There was silence for a long minute, where the only thing coming out of Winchester's mouth was some heavy breathing. Finally, Winchester said, "She was killed in the nursery. Why would he wait over a year to kill her? Why wait until the kid was six months old?"

"The guy could have thought the kid was his. Got a blood test back and found out it wasn't. Kill the wife and the bastard kid in one fell swoop."

Another silence. Then, "why would he save the baby then? If he wanted to kill them both?"

"Remorse? Figured it'd go down better if it was just the mother. Who knows? Maybe the guy just screwed up. Men who kill their wives are crazy, do they need a reason?"

Before DiNozzo was really sure what was going on, Ziva was between them, a hand on Winchester's arm.

"He's not worth it," she said.

There was a long moment of silence before Winchester looked at her and nodded slowly. Like he really didn't want to agree with her. DiNozzo frowned, knowing he'd missed something but not sure what. Ziva let go and before DiNozzo could process everything he was lying flat on his back and his face felt as if he'd been hit by a frying pan.

Gibbs reached down and helped him back to his feet. He shook his head at DiNozzo and then turned to Winchester. "You don't shoot my people. Even when they deserve it."

Winchester nodded, "Ok, yeah. I got it."

DiNozzo still wasn't sure what just happened.

* * *

Dean paced inside the elevator. Go cool down, Gibbs had said. He chuckled harshly to himself. Like that was going to happen. Between the stupid case and the time of year, it would take elephant tranquilizers to cool him down. What he needed was to go and kill something. Preferably something evil, but at the moment he'd take DiNozzo if Gibbs would let him. Arrogant ass. There were certain things you didn't do around a Winchester. Insult Mary was top of the list. It tended to make a Winchester foul. And wanting to kill things.

Unfortunately, there was really not much left to hunt. He'd taken out most of the crap in the area and there was no way he could get farther than an hour away. Not in the middle of a case and not with Gibbs already breathing down his neck. If he couldn't even figure out a way to Lawrence, and why the hell Sammy wanted to go there was beyond him, he wasn't going to be able to hunt in Texas or Oregon or hell even Maryland. Dean was stuck, plain and simple. Trapped in a cage of his own making.

Yes, Dean knew he shouldn't have blown up at Tony. He didn't know he was talking about Dean's mother. But damn, it had hurt. Hearing that arrogant ass talk about his mother that way. Like she was some cheap whore, like she deserved it. That had been worse than the cracks about his father. Cracks about Dad he could handle, his father wasn't exactly a saint. Dean slammed his hand against the side of the elevator and then rubbed it through his hair. This wasn't helping him to calm down. He needed out, he needed--his cell phone rang. Dean flipped it open without checking the caller id, ready to tell whoever it was to piss off.

"Dean?"

Dean froze. Just for a second, because really the absolute last person he'd expected it to be was John Winchester.

"Dean, you there?"

"Yeah, Dad. I'm here. What's going on?" God, Dean hoped his dad couldn't hear the shake in his voice.

"You all right?" Apparently the shake had been heard. Dean had to come up with something fast.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired," he lied and hoped his dad wouldn't see through him.

"You talk to Sam yet?" There had been a brief moment of hesitation. As if Dad wasn't quite sure how this was going to go down. He wondered if they both thought him that fucked up.

"About Lawrence?" Well, he could be cagey too. "Yeah.”

“Well?”

“I can't go,” Dean replied. So much for cagey.

"Why?"

Dean sighed. Prepared himself to have it out with his dad the way he'd had it out with Sam. "Because I'm working a case, Dad. I can't just leave in the middle of it."

"You could take time off," Dad replied quietly.

"I--that's not how it works, Dad," But really, Dean had no idea how it worked. Not exactly. The downside of never having gainful employment before now.

"It's been twenty-five years, son. Don't you think it's time to face this?"

Oh, Christ, is this what it was about? Him and his refusal to see his mother's grave? What did it matter if he hated the city and promised himself to never go back? What was gained by staring at her headstone anyway? Dean wiped a hand over his face. He really didn't need this today.

"Even if I left today I wouldn't get there in time," he said quietly.

There was silence on the other end. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Dean couldn't do this, wouldn't have this conversation where people could over hear him. People that included his father and brother. "I gotta go, Dad."

"Dean,"

"I have to. I'll call you back later."

"Dean, don't you hang up--" Whatever else was said, Dean didn't hear as he stepped out into the hallway.


	2. Chapter 2

Ducky looked up as Dean walked into the morgue. “Hello, there. What can I do for you?” He asked.

Dean came over and looked at the dissected body on the table. “What happened?” he asked.

“That's what I'm trying to determine. Did Gibbs send you down?” Ducky asked.

Dean shook his head. “Could I help? With the autopsy, I mean.” He took a deep breath. “Gibbs won't let me kill anything, I figure this might be the next best thing.”

Ducky stared at the young man. “Now that would be the first time I have ever heard that particular excuse.”

“I just need to do something, Ducky,” Dean said, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Please.”

Ducky nodded. “All right. I could use an assistant since Mr. Palmer has decided to stay home with the flu. You're sure you want to do this? An autopsy isn't the for the faint hearted.”

“I saw my fair share of dead bodies working with my old man,” Dean shrugged. “The ones that stay dead never bother me.”

Ducky chuckled. “Yes, well I suppose in your former line of work that was a much bigger problem.” He pointed over to the scrubs on a hook. “You might as well get yourself changed. You don't want to get those clothes full of blood.”

Dean snorted. “Wouldn't be the first time. I can give that Queen of Clean a run for her money.” He moved to the scrubs anyway. "You'll have to show me what to do."

"Oh, don't worry, Dean. You won't be doing any cutting. If you could help me with notes and perhaps some weighing, it would be helpful."

Dean nodded and let Ducky show him what to do. Dean worked quietly, listening to Ducky explain everything to him and tell him tales of his life. Usually Dean would match him story for story, the man had certainly lived an extraordinary young life. Ducky wondered what Dean had done to warrant banishment to the morgue but it wasn't his place to interfere with Jethro's team.

* * *

Gibbs wandered the lower halls of NCIS looking for his missing agent. He'd told Winchester to go calm down, unfortunately he didn't say where he was to go to do that. Winchester wasn't in the gym which is where he'd half expected him to be, punching a bag. He came off the elevator when Abby came out of her lab.

“Gibbs?” She asked.

“What is it, Abby?” He asked. “You got something for me?”

“Not yet, but Gibbs,” Abby said quickly, heading Gibbs off on his mission to find Winchester.

“What is it, Abby?” Gibbs demanded.

“I'm worried about Dean. I went to his house last night, you know just to see if he was all right. And to bring him food because you know if he had food poisoning he probably didn't have any food to eat and--”

“The point, Abby?” Gibbs asked.

Abby nodded, and took a deep breath. “Gibbs, when I got there, he threw the name of God at me. He never does that. The salt lines were there, but Gibbs, he had salt lines inside salt lines and they were thick. Usually he just does it because it's habit and he never asks me to watch the lines, just cleans them up afterwards.

“Then I came in, Gibbs, he was drawing something on the ceiling. I looked it up, it wasn't easy to find either, it was some kind of symbol to trap demons. Gibbs—I'm really worried.”

Gibbs sighed. Winchester's strange quirks picked the oddest time to come out. “Is there anything else?”

Abby took a deep breath. Clearly she didn't want to tell him. Was she afraid he'd blow up? “What is it, Abby?”

“Dean mentioned something about this case being hard on him. It brought up memories of Sam almost burning. I don't know what he means, Gibbs.”

Gibbs put his hand on her shoulder. “I'll take of it, Abby. Don't worry.” He watched Abby go back to her lab and again wondered where Winchester had wandered off to. Gibbs rounded the door of the lab and found Winchester dressed in scrubs talking quietly to Ducky as Ducky worked through an autopsy.

"What happened to him, Ducky?" Gibbs asked coming into the morgue.

"It looks like a blunt force trauma to the head. Possibly with a baseball bat," Ducky replied. "Is there something I can help you with, Jethro?"

"I need to borrow your assistant here," Gibbs replied, nodding toward Winchester.

"Certainly," Ducky turned to Dean. "I do appreciate the help young man. Without it it would have been quite the dull afternoon."

Dean flushed slightly. "It wasn't a big deal, Ducky. Glad I could help out."

"You, outside," Gibbs said nodding toward the door.

Winchester followed immediately. When they had reached the elevator, Gibbs turned to younger man.

"I asked you if we had a problem and you said no. Why did you lie?" Gibbs asked.

Dean frowned. "I didn't lie. We don't have a problem."

Gibbs glared at his newest agent. "I'm pulling you from this case. You're too invested in it. Too close."

Winchester stared at him, and Gibbs wondered if it had even registered. “Gibbs, I'm fine. I can work this case.”

Gibbs sighed. “You hit one of your teammates, Dean. For no reason I can tell, except that Ziva wouldn't let you shoot him. You haven't been fine since we started this case. You're no use to me on this one unless I can count on your head being in the game. It's not. Go home, get some sleep.”

Dean stared at him, and Gibbs could almost see the protest on his lips. That he wasn't a child, that he could do the job. “Go home,” Gibbs repeated quieter. “We can handle this one.”

In that moment, Gibbs watched as Dean literally shut down, his eyes going dark and expressionless, completely shutting him out from whatever was going through the boy's mind. “Yessir,” was all Dean said before he turned and went back into the morgue to change.

* * *

“I think I found something,” Ziva said slowly, staring at her screen intently.

DiNozzo looked up from where he was still going through the similar cases Winchester had found and nursing an ice pack on his face. He was going to have one hell of a shiner. “What did you find?”

“The major's wife is not the mother of this child,” Ziva replied.

“So, what? The major was banging his subordinate and just randomly brought home a baby? How did you find this anyway?” Tony said, curious despite himself.

“No, Tony. There was a surrogate. I found a copy of their medical record. The major's wife was going through fertility treatments.”

“Huh. So they decided to get a completely different host for their spawn. Not bad. That doesn't tell us why the baby was the target. People have other people's kids all the time.” Tony replied.

“Well, Tony, not everyone tries to get around the system. I see a record of a payment to a Michelle Sanders. Surrogates, they get how much for their services?” Ziva asked.

“No idea. The DiNozzo seed is powerful stuff, there won't be any problems if I have kids,” Tony retorted, with a smirk.

“Let us hope there are no mini DiNozzo's running around any time soon. They are expensive, yes?”

“I would guess so. What are you driving at Ziva?”

“This check is for five thousand dollars. This doesn't seem to be quite enough, and it was written two months ago.”

“Why would they pay the surrogate this late after the baby's been born?” DiNozzo asked.

“That is what I'm going to find out. Coming?” Ziva asked with a sweet smile on her face.

“Yes, before Winchester decides he could use a few more licks.”

* * *

Gibbs sat down at his desk and looked around. His was the only one occupied. He wondered what lead Ziva was tracking down. Gibbs assumed that DiNozzo was at the med unit getting his face looked at. Gibbs shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. There were days it was like refereeing a kindergarten class. Winchester had been an unpredictable element since he'd come on board. Too used to doing things his own way and not enough experience working independently. It was an odd combination that Gibbs had been trying hard to train out of the boy.

Gibbs thought they'd been making progress. Winchester was working with the others more. Sharing information and contacts, and it seemed as if he was settling down as well. He wasn't as jittery and eager to just jump into taking down the bad guys. Gibbs even thought they were slowly earning Dean's trust and respect. Two things that seemed to be hard won in that boy's life.

That was until this case. A simple arson had thrown Dean into a downward spiral. The background check had come up clean. There was no mention of anything that could explain why Dean was so spooked. Gibbs was going to have to dig deeper. He looked over at Winchester's desk, but realized there was nothing personal on it. His other agents had personal effects on their desks, a way to claim it as their own and warn people away from it. Winchester had nothing that wasn't work related on it. Every night the young man cleaned off the desk. If no one knew better they'd think it was empty, ready for the next available agent. It had happened once, just after Dean had started working there and he'd simply let the agent use the desk. He'd done his work down in Abby's lab until Gibbs had come into the office and asked the agent exactly what the hell he was doing and where was Winchester?

No, if he wanted answers he'd have to go to Dean's home. Gibbs looked up Dean's home of record and frowned when he saw the address. Checking records he found that Dean's apartment was listed as Highlander Motor Inn, Arlington. Picking up the phone he hit Abby's extension.

"Gibbs, I told you I don't have anything yet," Abby said into the phone.

"Abby, what's Winchester's address?" Gibbs asked.

There was a pause and then she rattled off the address, which was significantly different than the one on record. He'd have to get Winchester to change it when he came back into the office.

"Thanks, Abbs," Gibbs said, hanging up the phone. He flirted with the idea of calling first, but declined. He didn't want to give Winchester time to clean up or hide anything in the time it took to get over to his place.

Half an hour later and Gibbs was standing in front of Dean's door. First floor, external entrance. Easier for Dean to come and go at all hours of the day or night and not have nosy neighbors interfering. He knocked on the door, and got no response. Knocking again, he waited as he pulled the lock pick kit out of his coat. If Winchester wasn't home, it might even make this easier. Opening the door, he saw the thick line of white covering the door jam. Frowning, he crouched down and touched his finger to it and then lifted his finger to his lips. Salt.

With a shake of his head, Gibbs entered the apartment. Straight back from the front door was a darkened hallway and a bar area that separated the kitchen from the living room. On his left was a small TV with a futon facing it. A battered coffee table sat in front of the futon with a matching end table on the side. The other side of the room held a small table with four chairs, a laptop sitting on open on the table, the screen dark. Glancing up, Gibbs saw what Abby had mentioned. A rather large symbol was drawn on the ceiling with what looked like to be thick charcoal. It was far enough in the apartment that someone would have to take several steps into the room before they were underneath it. Gibbs wondered if perhaps he hadn't made a mistake in standing up to Jenn when she had demanded a psych eval for Winchester. There certainly were some odd quirks to the boy.

Making a circuit of the room, Gibbs found the gun safe open. He raised his eyebrows at the amount of weapons in it. Pistols, sawed-off shotguns, rifles, not to mention enough ammo to make a small nation drool. From the meticulous way they were stored Gibbs saw that at least one of the shotguns and pistols were missing. Gibbs unholstered his weapon and moved quietly through the rest of the apartment.

Down the single hallway were two doors. One led to a small bathroom. Toilet, shower, sink, barely big enough for a grown man. Toiletries were neatly arranged in the small two shelf cabinet, and the towel was still damp. Winchester had at least come home and showered before leaving once more. Moving to the bedroom, Gibbs found another meticulously clean room. He wondered briefly if that was John Winchester's military training instilled in his boys. Everything seemed to have a place and a place for everything.

In the closet he found a metal box. Picking it up and dropping it on the bed, Gibbs holstered his gun and opened it. So far the apartment wasn't any more personal than Winchester's desk. Comfortable, but impersonal. As if Dean didn't expect to be any place long enough to settle in and put down roots. Inside the box, Gibbs found a few old pictures. Flipping through them he found himself looking at a happy family. Father was behind, a shit-eating grin on his face, as if he couldn't believe his good luck, the mother, with her arms around the infant, cuddling him close with a toddler next to her. All of them were smiling and before Gibbs even flipped over the picture he knew he was looking at Dean's family. The Winchesters: John, Mary, Dean and baby Sammy.

Gibbs put the pictures on bed and dug deeper. The box wasn't that big, but it was the most personal thing he'd found. At the bottom of the box was a small card. Pulling it out Gibbs found a picture of the Virgin Mary, her arms outstretched, a child clinging to each hand. On the back, the name Mary Winchester, with her birth and death date, along with a small prayer verse. A prayer card from a funeral, from Dean's mother's funeral. He rubbed his thumb over the card, wondering about the little boy that kept a small momento of his mother. Looking at the year, Gibbs did the math and realized Dean had been almost five when his mother died. Enough time to remember her but not enough for the memories to become anything more than vague dreams.

Other items were more obscure. A driver's license from Kansas, possibly the first real one Dean had, his high school diploma, the title to a '67 Chevy Impala, and a curious drawing of a house and a white church. It was obviously drawn by a child and Gibbs wondered if it was a family member or someone Dean had helped while working with his father. There was no signature, nothing on the back to register it's significance besides being in the box with pictures of Dean's family.

The box told him bits and pieces but not the whole story. Evidently Winchester left nothing of himself to be found. He was like a ghost, or a dealer that would only reveal the cards as they were needed. Everything they knew about Winchester came from the boy's own mouth, carefully doled out, as if he was testing the waters. Never sure how much was too much.

The only way to get to the bottom of this was to talk to Winchester himself. Gibbs packed everything back into the box and put it back where it was and retreated back to the living room. He was worried about the gun case. From everything he'd seen so far from Winchester, he was meticulous and fastidious. He was brought up around weapons and had respect for them. Which included not leaving a weapons locker open and unlocked if he could help it. Since the boy wasn't in the apartment, and Gibbs doubted he'd just run down the street for a jug of milk, it begged the question of where had Winchester gone with loaded weapons and no backup.

* * *

“Miss Sanders? I'm Special Agent DiNozzo and this is Special Agent David, we'd like to ask you some questions if you don't mind?”

The woman standing in front of them was pale, her brown eyes large in her face. Her brown hair was damp and curled lightly around her face. She was dressed in a pink and white raglan t-shirt with a picture of a princess with two large guns and jeans. The writing proclaimed “I don't need Mario to save me.”

DiNozzo smirked. “Nice shirt.”

The woman smiled up at him. “Thanks, and come in.” The apartment was small, cluttered but neat. Books were stacked on the desk that faced the wall. Pictures of various actors were plastered to the wall above the desk.

“Inspiration?” Ziva asked, nodding to the pictures.

The girl shrugged. “Sometimes they're the only thing that gets me through the day.” She sat down on the old couch and gestured to the chairs opposite. “What's this about?”

“We're investigating an arson. Your name came up in the course of the investigation,” Ziva said.

“Me? Why?” Michelle asked.

“We found a payment for five thousand dollars to you from the victim. We're hoping you could shed some light on it?” DiNozzo replied.

Michelle shifted in her seat. “Oh, him.” She said quietly. “There was a fire?”

“Yes, in the baby's room. Do you know anything about it?” Ziva demanded.

“Not about the fire. I'm not exactly surprised. Lisa Douglas doesn't exactly like baby Addison,” Michelle said quietly.

“Why not?” DiNozzo asked, glancing at Ziva. Ziva grimaced but backed off and let Tony handle it. He was better with the nervous women.

“Lisa can't have children. I don't know the specifics. I was working in the Major's department. IT, I'm a programmer on a civilian contract while I get my master's degree. He--” she trailed off. Michelle twisted her hands in her lap before taking a deep breath and looking Tony directly in the eye. “He took a liking to me. We...we had an affair and I became pregnant. When the Major found out, he went crazy. Demanded that I give him the baby. Threatened to have me fired, get me thrown out of school, put up on charges. He said if I didn't give him the baby, there was no end to what he could do to me.” She shrugged. “So I did. I gave him, Addison. It probably wasn't—wasn't the best thing, and I'm not exactly proud of myself but I didn't know what else to do. He's a major and I'm just an intern. Was. I, uh, quit a few months ago. After I gave him Addison, I just—I just couldn't be around him anymore.”

“I understand. Did you tell anyone about this?” Tony asked, gently.

“No, no one. Everyone thought it was my boyfriend that knocked me up, but no one knew it was the major,” Michelle replied.

“And the money? The major did give you five thousand dollars,” Tony added.

Michelle blushed. “I'm not proud of myself. He—he gave me the money to be quiet. To cover my medical expenses. Being a contractor, it's good money but crappy benefits and the pregnancy wasn't exactly cheap. The five grand was to make sure I was healthy.”

Tony nodded. “Sure. One last question. Where were you two nights ago?”

Michelle blinked. “Out. I had a study group from four and lasted most of the night. I think I got back around midnight. We were at the local Silver Diner. Crappy food, I know, but it's cheap and we're mostly poor. IT doesn't pay nearly as much as it used to. Especially since the dot com bust and all the importing of Indian programmers. It's just hard, you know?”

Tony smiled. “Of course, thank you for your time, Miss Sanders. If we need anything else, we'll be sure to contact you.”

Michelle smiled and led them out of the small apartment. Once they were outside, Tony turned to Ziva.

“What do you think?” Tony asked.

“I don't know. If it was true, this doesn't explain why the baby was the target,” Ziva said.

“Maybe the mother wasn't as stable as we thought. Jealous maybe? This woman doing what she couldn't?”

“But why kill the baby?” Ziva asked as they sat in the car. “If she was jealous, why not go after Sanders?”

“Easier target, maybe? The baby was in her home, a constant reminder of what she couldn't give her husband. Makes it look like an accident. No one knows that she's not the mother and who would look at a grieving mother as a suspect?” Tony replied. “This is just like Rosemary's Baby.”

“I don't want to hear it, Tony,” Ziva snapped. “What went wrong?”

Tony was quiet for a moment. Whether he was thinking about the case or the movie, Ziva wasn't going to ask. It was enough that he wasn't talking. “The major? He said he came in to check on the baby and saw an intruder. He could have seen her setting the fire and not realized it was her.”

“What about all the other cases Dean found?” Ziva asked.

Tony nodded. “Not sure about that. I mean those are spread out, I'm not sure there's anything more than bad luck in those cases. They were all considered natural causes. Shorts, faulty wiring. I think Winchester is barking up the wrong tree.”

“Maybe,” Ziva said.

* * *

Gibbs stared at the orderly desk. He started to rifle through the desk, trying to find anything that might explain where Winchester had gone. There were reports on the weather, cattle mutilations, similar cases to the one they were working. Gibbs found small black notebook in the top drawer and opened it. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, a list of women being high on the list, only to find notations on various beings and creatures. Notes about how to recognize, track and kill. What worked, what didn't and what just pissed it off. Gibbs flipped thorough it until he found notes on the current case. As he read the notes, the tickling came back. He should know this.

None of the information helped Gibbs figure out where Winchester had disappeared. It did help him understand what a meticulous and detailed orientated agent Winchester would become some day. The young man wasn't at home, nor the office and he wasn't answering his cell. Gibbs didn't like it. Winchester was running solo and running scared and that got agents killed.

A siren came from the corner of Dean's desk. Picking up the phone, Gibbs noted the number before answering. It wasn't from the DC metro area. "Hello?"

"Dammit Dean, you know better than to hang up on me! I want to know exactly what is so goddamn important that you can't be bothered to come home. Do you think it was easy for Sammy to ask you? To get time off of school and you just blow him off? Can't you even come up with a better damn excuse? Do you have any idea how difficult this time of year is for him and you can't even show enough support to do the one thing he has ever asked of you?"

Gibbs waited as the man continued to rant in his ear. When the other end finally wound down, Gibbs cut in. "Who are you?" he asked, fairly certain of the answer.

"John Winchester. Who the hell are you? Where's Dean?" The gruff voice demanded.

"Special Agent Jethro Gibbs. I was hoping you'd be able to shed some light on that," Gibbs replied.

"What the hell has that boy gotten into now?" The anger had burned out and left a weariness. As if John was used to dealing with his son being in trouble. As if it was no shocker to him.

"No idea," Gibbs replied lightly. "Where's he supposed to be?"

There was a sigh. "Lawrence, Kansas." A pause then, "his mother's buried there. She passed twenty-five years ago this November."

Suddenly it was all there. The first time the Winchester boys had shown up. Dean had been injured and Sam had mentioned a serial killer, one that liked to murder young mothers and burn the house to hide the evidence. Gibbs grabbed the files off the desk and flipped through them until he found the one he was looking for, Winchester.

"Mr. Winchester, where was your wife murdered?"

"In the baby's room. Why? What does this have to do with Dean?"

The same place the fire at the Major's started. No wonder Winchester was spooked. Gibbs remembered Winchester saying they'd caught the bastard that had killed his mother and Sam's girlfriend. Maybe he'd remembered wrong or they had a copy cat on their hands. "He's working an arson investigation for me. He seems to have gone AWOL."

There was silence on the other end of the line. "His brother thought he was making it up. Using work as an excuse not to come." John said quietly.

"He wasn't," Gibbs answered, another piece sliding into place.

"Dean wouldn't stay out of contact. He'd have left word at least. Coordinates, an address, something. I trained him better than that." There was a pause. "You find my boy, Gibbs." There was the growl of an order behind the words. This wasn't a man used to being disobeyed.

"I'll do my best," Gibbs replied.

It took Gibbs another twenty minutes to decipher the notes Winchester had left on the cases. Once he found the markings, Gibbs had to admit it was as clear as a stoplight on a dark night. He grabbed his gun, phone and Dean's cell and headed out.

Another fifteen minutes and Dean jumped when Gibbs knocked on the window of Dean's car. The younger man sighed as Gibbs slid into the passenger seat but accepted the cup of coffee Gibbs offered him.

"You left your cell at the office," Gibbs said lightly, offering the object to Winchester.

Winchester grunted and dropped the phone into the cup holder. He sipped the coffee and went back to watching the house.

"I expect to be able to get a hold of you. I can't have afford to have my agents out of contact," Gibbs said. The boy didn't even turn. "Dammit Winchester, look at me when I'm talking to you!"

There was silence and then "Sorry, sir," but Winchester kept his face turned toward his prey.

Gibbs took a deep breath and reminded himself why he came. His agent wasn't stupid and he'd seen enough in the evidence and other cases worth checking. As much of a loudmouth as Winchester could be, it was the silences that you had to worry about. As long as Winchester kept talking he was processing whatever it was that went on in his head. The kid was a minefield, no doubt. Gibbs didn't resent having to navigate the field. He could be patient when he had to.

"Your father called," Gibbs said quietly. Another grunt answered him. Gibbs let it sit and simply watched the house. He had no idea what he was watching for but he knew Dean knew what it was and he was content with that for now.

"What did you tell him?" the voice was quiet, the owner still not taking his face from the window. Another defense, not allowing anyone to see his face and read him. Gibbs didn't bother to pretend he hadn't talked to the eldest Winchester.

"Told him you were working a case," Gibbs replied taking a sip of his coffee.

Another silence. "Christ! He can't come here. If he thinks--" Winchester cut himself off and Gibbs wondered what he'd been about to say. He didn't push. He was still mapping out the field, trying to find the best way inside without blowing everything up.

"I can't stop it," almost too quiet, a plea in the dark.

"Can't or won't?" Gibbs replied.

"Can't." Another pause. "but I'll die trying."

Gibbs shifted in his seat. "No one's dying here, Winchester. We'll catch the bastard that did this, but you've got to let us help you."

Winchester did turn toward him then but the car was too dark to see anything clearly. He was in deep now and had to pick his steps carefully.

"It'll come tonight. Anoint the baby with her mother's blood. Womb blood, source of all life. Like it tried with Sammy." Winchester turned back to the window. "I can't stop it, but no one else--" he stopped, "not if I'm still here."

“What is it?”

“A demon. Had plans for the kids. Special kids with abilities like the ones you see in all the horror movies. Thought we took care of it before,” a shrug in the darkness, “guess we were wrong.”

Gibbs digested that. He remembered Kate and Ari's ghost, the way the brothers knew exactly what to do, how to put the souls at rest. He'd have brought the shrink in himself if he'd hadn't seen it for himself. Why should demons be any different? Just a different kind of evil. “You're waiting for it, without backup, to do what exactly?”

Winchester looked over at him. “Hoping to piss him off again. So he leaves the baby alone, leaves the family.” Winchester shrugged. “I'll do what I can to keep it away from the family but without the Colt, there's not much I can do.” Winchester looked over at Gibbs, and he could just make out a feral grin on his face. “This bastard's taken a shine to us Winchesters. Won't be able to resist the challenge.”

“Of what?” Gibbs asked.

“Taking one of us out. Tried before, a couple of times, but it didn't finish the job.”

Gibbs took that in, “You're going to sacrifice yourself to it?”

Dean looked back at the house. “If that's what it takes. No one else is dying because of that thing. Not if I'm still here.”

Dean suddenly sat up and leaned out the window. “There's someone there. In the nursery,” he said, as he bolted out the door.

“Winchester! Wait!” Gibbs snapped. As he was waiting for a car to pass before crossing his phone rang. “What?!” he snapped.

“Boss, it's DiNozzo. Listen, we think the mother might be unstable,” The voice was slightly breathless and Gibbs realized Tony must have let Ziva drive.

“What? Why?” He snapped again.

“The baby, it isn't hers. It's a Michelle Sanders. She had an affair with the Major and he took the baby.”

Gibbs closed his eyes. It was looking more like natural human impulses and he had to stop Winchester before they had a murder on their hands. “Where are you?”

“En route,” DiNozzo replied.

“Good. I'll be inside when you get here,” Gibbs snapped off the phone and ran toward the house.

Once inside, Gibbs found himself alone in the house. He pelted up the stairs and found Winchester, gun drawn, and a stranger in what appeared to be a trench coat standing over the baby's crib. He kept quiet, not wanting to startled either Winchester or the stranger.

"Get away from the baby," Winchester snapped.

"It's my baby!" the stranger said. "They took her from me."

Gibbs saw Winchester frown. Apparently that wasn't part of the script. "Who are you?" Gibbs asked, announcing himself.

"Addison's mother. She's my baby. They took her from me. They wouldn't let me have her. They wouldn't even let me see her. But they can't keep me away. She's my baby."

Gibbs stared at the woman. "Michelle, you need to step away from Addison. We can sort this out but only if you don't hurt the baby."

"She's my baby," the woman repeated.

"I'll take care of her," Winchester said, putting his weapon back into his holster. "I've got experience with babies. I looked after my brother for most of his life. Can I take the baby?"

"You'll let me see him?" Michelle asked.

"I'll do my best," Winchester replied. He stepped up to the crib and took the baby into his arms before stepping back.

Gibbs surged forward and snapped the woman in handcuffs just as the light flicked on and a bewildered major and his wife stood at the door.

"What the hell is going on here?"

* * *

Dean stared at his glass of whiskey. He hated today. Hated being anywhere near the North where it smelled like friggin' November. Had he tried, he could have made it, if he hadn't been such a pussy. Too chicken shit to fly, too chicken shit to go home, just plain chicken shit. Instead of getting drunk with Dad and Sam, he was getting drunk alone. Dean snorted and tried no to think too hard about that.

Dean figured if anyone asked, he was celebrating. The freaky, insane surrogate was safely locked up and the major and his family were safe. Hadn't even been a return of the Demon, which really was worth celebrating. That would be his story. No one needed to know about anything else. Especially that Dean Winchester was so much of a pussy that he wished more than anything to have Sam and Dad drinking with him. Or just about anyone else that would fill up the giant, gaping, screaming hole in his head.

Dean tossed back the whiskey and motioned for the bartender to bring another. He wasn't driving. He might hate the piece of shit car he was driving but he wasn't about to get arrested for putting it around a tree in his less than sober state. There was a hotel not that far, a dive, but hell, he'd been in worse. Had stayed in worse when he first got here, content to live out of that shithole forever if it hadn't been for Tim and Abby ganging up on him and making him get a decent apartment.

Dean smirked as the bartender set the glass down in front of him. He wondered vaguely if his mother would approve of him. If this is what she'd wanted for her boys. For him. Drinking alone to her memory in some crap bar in downtown DC. Alone, because work kept him from coming home. Gave him an excuse not to go and visit her, to see her grave and reminisce about the four years he barely remembered with his brother that didn't remember her at all. He'd like to think she'd be proud of what he was doing. That he was making a difference and helping people but he just didn't know. Had no way to know because Dad had never liked to talk about her and Dean simply didn't remember enough.

Dean raised his glass and nodded at it. "To you, Mom," he said quietly, draining the glass. He put the glass back on the bar and contemplated another when fingertips trailed across his shoulderblades. He froze, afraid to look because freaky shit like this happened to the Winchesters. Toast your mother and she shows up sitting next to you, ready to answer any and all questions like she'd just been gone on a trip and not freakin' dead for twenty-five years. Quarter of a century and Jesus that was a long time when he put it like that. But he was a Winchester and Winchesters didn't run just because they were chicken shit.

The hair was wrong. Dark brown and not the brilliant blond he remembered. As was the face and the voice, when she said his name. A hint of an accent, features younger, and Dean blinked, the glamour fading and shifting until he saw Ziva sitting next to him.

"Are you all right?" She asked. Dean wondered vaguely how badly he looked that she felt that she had to ask that question.

"Fine, just peachy," he replied.

"Yes, I can see this by the alcohol you've consumed," Ziva replied.

Dean grunted, he wasn't in the mood for Ziva's brand of humor. He just wanted to drink to another anniversary, maybe find a nice girl to fill the screaming hole and forget for awhile. He considered leaving, there were plenty of bars in DC to get lost in, not as many as Wisconsin, where the only thing that out numbered the bars were the churches, but enough.

Ziva put her hand on his wrist and Dean looked at her. She montioned to the bartender. "Two of whatever he's having," she said.

Dean gave her a suspicious look but settled again in his seat. Ziva didn't speak and Dean saw his cell phone skitter across the bar. He watched Ziva, but since she wasn't answering hers, he felt no reason to answer his. NCIS wouldn't be calling him for a case and not Ziva.

"Are you going to answer?" Ziva said as the whiskey was placed in front of them.

"Nope," he replied. He didn't take the glass, ready to wait to see what Ziva had in mind.

"Could be Gibbs," Ziva suggested.

"Won't be him," Dean replied. Gibbs had mentioned Dad had called, from his tone Dean could guess how the call had gone. Which meant Gibbs knew what today was.

"You don't want to check?" Ziva asked again.

Dean glared at her. "When did you become Tony?" He snapped. He did drain the glass then, putting it back down with a thunk. Dean shrugged. "It's my geek brother or my dad. Don't feel like talking to them tonight." Didn't want to talk because both of them were well versed in the language of Dean and he was just drunk enough to say what he really meant and that served no one. Better for all of them if Dad and Sam thought it was an excuse and he didn't want to go to Kansas and not that he wanted to, so badly he could almost taste it, but couldn't because he didn't know how to take time off. No reason for them to realize how badly he was failing the whole normal thing.

Mercifully both the phone and Ziva shut up. He scrubbed his hand over his face, but he was done talking. The more he talked, the more he screwed things over and he liked Ziva, just not tonight.

Ziva drained her glass and ordered another for them both. When the glasses arrived Ziva looked over at him. She snorted and then said, "the ghost, the one you-" she flapped her hands at him.

Dean raised an eyebrow and supplied, "banished?"

"Yes, that. He was my half brother. I shot him because he was going to kill Gibbs and he admitted that he had turned on us, on me."

Dean nodded. He got that Ziva sharing, something she rarely did, was her way of cheering him up. He had no idea if she knew and he wondered if she'd been sent. Sent to make sure he didn't do anything overly stupid.

"Sam almost killed Dad once. Shot him in the leg. Would have finished the job, but I begged him not to." He wasn't sure where the words came from, words had power and he didn't like anyone having that kind of power over him, but Ziva had started this sharefest and it was only fair. "Dad was possessed, he was the one almost ripped my heart out. Special gun, special bullets. Got rid of the Demon, at least for a while."

The phone buzzed again and they both watched it skitter across the bar. Ziva picked it up and checked the number before putting it back on the bar unanswered. Dean picked up the glass and nodded to her.

"To family lost," he said before tossing back the whiskey.

"They will never be forgotten."


End file.
